I have come to understand that there is no self-care for me. I have no refuge from the injustice that gets worse by the day. I try to lighten the mood by posting funny pet pics and vids and acts of kindness, even if it is superficial, on social media. Still I can't get away, because I'm chastised by others who also can't get away, that I'm slipping, giving in, somehow, not being true because I'll try to snatch the tiniest bit of refuge from the pain in a kind act that shouldn't be, by someone who wouldn't afford me that kind act because of my color.There is no hiding for me. I see, eat, hear, taste, smell injustice every waking minute. I live the struggle to keep people with disabilities from unnecessary institutionalization, to keep us from being killed, either by neglect or legislation, to ensure that we are thought of in the building of public spaces, in the Governor's budget, or in times of disaster.I have no refuge from fear, exclusion, discrimination, othering. I cannot shut down. I cannot get away. I'm forever open to it, even in my sleep. With my waking eyes, I see the shadows of Mike, Eric, John, Ethan, Tamir, Renisha, Trayvon, Tajieme, London, and so many other men, women and children murdered by cops, vigilantes or parents who disposed of them simply because of their disabilities.Every 28 hours, a Black man is killed by police or vigilantes and that doesn't even begin to address the Black women and children who die at the hand of amped up, racist cops and vigilantes. Each time I leave my house, I wonder will I join their ranks.Sometimes, I get jealous, envious, angry, rage-filled that there is no refuge for me. It's not a matter of choice - I did not choose this Black, disabled lesbian body that I live in, so I cannot choose not to see or be subject to or survive the injustice, hatred and racism around me. I cannot escape it if I tried.My White, straight, nondisabled friends can take a break for self-care - they can back away, not deal, refuse to see, hide until they feel safe enough to come back out. I'm not shaming them because they didn't choose to be who they are, either. At least, they have that to keep themselves sane. I just wish that my friends, who mean well, understand that I and others like me don't have that option.When I hear people say, take a break, take care of yourself, do something fun, get out, I wish I could make them understand that for me, there is no break, no respite, no refuge except death, and that is permanent, and not an option - at least, not an option that I'll choose to take.I wish that I can tell you what it feels like in my body to live this way, to always be in fear, on guard, ever vigilant, angry. There is a soul pain, a psychic pain, a spirit pain that never leaves me. There is a tense expectancy, heightened fear, awareness, waiting. There is sadness, hopelessness, a tiny kernel of bitterness and yes, a hatred for this unjust system that I can't get away from even in my sleep, even in my dreams.I can't escape the words of hate, shame, recrimination, the taunts hurled at the memories of dead Black bodies, the hate unfurled against those who fight back against injustice with both rage and love, who have brought this to your neighborhood, your door, your face, and who inconvenienced you by blocking a street, a highway, a store, an agency, with their bodies so that you'll see in some small way, what we go through. I say we, because I am often one of the ones that you yell at, scream at, curse at, spit on, shove, hit in your rage and indignation - how DARE we put this on you!So I try to take a second here and there to post a funny pic or vid on social media. I try to lose myself in my music, my books, my fantasies, my wife's arms, my cat's eyes, my friends' laughter, my hopes, my visions, my desire to try and pluck something good out of something problematic, even, sometimes, my writing. I try to hang on to something, even as I know the troubles linger in the background, indeed, all around me.So, see - there is no refuge for me, no way of escaping, nowhere to hide from injustice, so I'm left to do the only thing I know to do - fight. Fight with anger. Fight with hope. Fight with love.

In the midst of everything, on this day, whose background, backdrop and history are mired in, and fraught with controversy, I'd like to take this moment to say Happy Thanksgiving to those who observe this day.Though it seems that we all observe this day in the same manner, of course, we don't, so I, being the odd bird that I am, will share my personal observations and thanks for things other than life or a roof over my head, even thought they are very, very important and of which, of course, I am thankful for. Those, however, are obvious things that we all are thankful for.I want to give thanks and apologies to the Wampanoag people, specifically, the Pawtuxet tribe, and most specifically, a guy named Tisquantum, an interpreter and mediator, who taught the starving, ignorant colonists at Plymouth how to plant corn, fish and hunt beaver, thus, helping them to survive. Later that year, there was a harvest feast with the colonists that Tisquantum and folks from the Pokanoket tribe attended; this is said to be the origin of what we now call Thanksgiving. I'm sure that they, and the people of the Massachusett, Narragansett and other tribes in the region had little inkling that in just a few years time, they'd be slaughtered almost to extinction in the creation of what would become the United States.Let me give thanks to the Choctaw people, one of the tribes who sheltered escaped Black slaves. Some of these slaves intermarried with the Choctaw people, leading to the ancestors of my birth mother.Along with the indigenous American nations and peoples who were driven from their lands, suffered untold and unimaginable injustice, massacred and nearly wiped out, and now, who barely survive on scattered reservations, I give unnumbered thanks to the Black African slaves, kidnapped from their countries, brought over to this country, the Caribbean and South America. The conditions on that Middle Passage were so horrific that over half of the slaves died before the ships docked in various countries. They were sold like goods, treated worse than animals, stripped of their names, languages, cultures, and religions. They were not allowed to learn to read and write and had Christianity foisted upon them so that they would be happy that they were enslaved and beaten, raped and sold at will. Though the colonists thought them to be less than animals, this country was built on their backs. Among them were my ancestors on my birth father's side.I give thanks for immigrants of color, who helped to build this nation. They were the ones who did the backbreaking work, the dirty jobs, the jobs that the vast majority of Americans, even now, would never do. They built our railroads, and today, harvest our food, take care of our children, and clean our toilets. They are the unseen folks who are the backbone of this great country! Among them are members of my family.Two men whom I never met, deserve my and millions of people's thanks - Mohandas K. Gandhi, who, through entirely peaceful means, freed his home nation of India from British rule. His work inspired a young Black minister named Martin Luther King, Jr., who used Gandhi's methods to fight for the civil rights of Black people here in the U.S. Tragically, they would both be assassinated, but their work continues to inspire many.There are so many people in this world who give children a home via foster care, adoption or just taking them in. Many families also bring adults with disabilities into their hearts, homes and lives. I give thanks and love to these people because that's how I found my family. I was in foster care, adopted, and as an adult, taken in by my wonderful family!I am a nerd who loved school, but I started during a time when children with disabilities didn't have the right to an education. I am so thankful that not only was I able to attend school, but I went to class with nondisabled kids from preschool through university. When I hear stories of parents who fight for accommodations for their disabled children, I am grateful that, in elementary school, I had accommodations, such as large print tests and extra tutoring. I also had teachers who cared for, and believed in me - Mrs. Magnavite and Mrs. McBride at Countee Cullen Elementary School and Mr. Kielty, Mr. Strassberger and Mrs. Gray, at George Henry Corliss High School - you inspired me and made me excited about learning!I remember and give thanks for three specific people in my life - Sr. Anne Mayer, SSND, my Godmother, who introduced me to the social justice movement, Dennis Schreiber, my supervisor at Chicago Lighthouse for the Blind, who introduced me to the disability rights movement and taught me about fundraising, relationship building and networking, and Wade Blank, the founder of ADAPT, the national, grassroots disability rights group that I am a member of. Wade was a friend and mentor, who taught me community organizing and groomed me for leadership. These three were responsible for changing my life.If there is any entity that I am most thankful for, it is the group, ADAPT. There are not enough words to say how grateful I am for my ADAPT family, who loves me, nurtures me and believes in me even when I don't.I am eternally grateful for my beautiful, loving wife, Lisa, whom I met through ADAPT at a time when I'd given up hope of finding true love.Finally, I am thankful for my disabilities. That may seem strange, but if not for them, I would not be the person I am. They helped to shape me and my life.It's great to be thankful on Thanksgiving, but hey, it's only one day. I'm thankful and grateful every day of the year, even for the not-so-good stuff, because often, they are blessings in disguise.So, there's my list - part of it, anyway. What things are you thankful for every day?

I am tired beyond words of all the happy, happy, joy, joy, Pollyanna memes that I am currently seeing on all social media exhorting us to be happy, don't pay attention to sadness or injustice in your life or don't worry about what other people think because it doesn't matter. These memes, along with the people writing this stuff on their statuses and tweets say, trust in god, don't let the negativity take space inside your head, rise above it, be positive and all kinds of other stuff that I find nauseating, at best and infuriating and disingenuous, at worst. What really gets to me is the implied shaming that occurs - if you let what people think and say bother you, somehow, you are not as good as the people who let it roll off of their backs, or who have tough skin. The memes and posts imply that if you don't do as they suggest, you are weak, inferior and deserving of sadness.

Why do I feel this way? Because I am a realist and have no time for this hogwash. I am sure, as some of these memes are coming from folks whom I admire and love, that people mean well, but I just can't buy it. What people think of you DOES make a difference, especially if you are Black, a person of color, disabled, trans, gay or lesbian, poor, or otherwise marginalized. Since most of the folks posting these memes either don't belong to marginalized groups, or can pass as part of the dominant culture, I'll tell you why it is true that what people think does matter.The reason that what people think about you matters is that people can make decisions about you and your life that cause emotional pain, physical harm, or even death. This is not an abstract thing; it's not my warped perception. It is the stark truth and silly, cutesy, obnoxious and dangerous memes designed to sooth feelings or make you rely on invisible entities to make it better does nothing to address this.

If you think I'm being negative, unreasonable or downright lying, try talking to people who have been bullied. That old adage, sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never harm me is an outright lie. Words hurt. Words kill. You can think positive all you want and you can love yourself with all your might, but after a while, relentless bullying and abuse will take its toll.

If you still think that I don't know what I'm talking about, spend some time talking with a person with a disability who has been denied housing or a job based on their disability, or who has had cruel things said to them before being told they couldn't enter a public place. Tell your cutesy crap to someone stuck in a nursing home solely because of what someone thought of him or her. What people think about you matters when people who think it's better to be dead than disabled are making and pushing legislation and policies that govern your life and decides whether you live or die. It sure as hell matters when a parent who kills a nondisabled child is seen as a monster and a parent who kills a disabled child is seen as a hero, long-suffering, deserving of sympathy, rather than revulsion.Tell that to the trans woman beaten to within an inch of her life, or the parents, friends and loved ones of trans women murdered every year.

Go ahead, tell that to a gay or lesbian person living in shame that what people think about them doesn't matter when they live in fear of being found out and disowned by their parents, lose custody of their children, get fired from their jobs or excommunicated from their church, temple, mosque, synagogue or other faith community. What people think matters when the penalty for being gay or lesbian in some countries is death!

What people think matters to the fat people shamed, ridiculed and discriminated against every day, even if they do love themselves and have a thick skin.

When you, as a Black person, are seen as a gorilla or an animal by law enforcement and decision makers in your community and are treated accordingly, it's obvious that what people think matters a lot! Trust me, the thousands of Black men, women, and children murdered or abused by police or White vigilantes for walking, sitting or living while Black suffered these horrors precisely because of what someone thought of them, personally or of Black people, in general. Those thoughts caused the person responsible for their death or injury to react in a way that reflected how they felt about the person whom they harmed or killed.So, stop it, ok? Stop trying to feed people the disingenuous notion that what people think of you doesn't matter and that all you have to do is be positive and happy and depend on the invisible entity that some call god and everything will be ok, because - let's get real, folks - it doesn't work like that. What people think of you can and does affect you, whether you want it to ot not. It's not a matter of "allowing" it, because in many cases, you have no choice. No matter how positive or happy you are, what people think of you can still impact you.

Oh, and, please, folks, stop throwing and blaming everything on god. It's not fair to god and frankly, it's just plain lazy and dependent. Though I often feel powerless and angry, I have no choice but to fight. I take my anger and try to channel it into doing something big and positive, like speaking out against injustice and fighting for disability rights or something so small as trying to be understanding and nonjudgmental towards others. When it gets to be too much, I write. It's my medicine, my therapy, the way I process things. I write the anger away so that I can be an effective activist. It's my way of taking control in a world where often, it seems that I have no control or power.In closing, what I'm saying is this: Be very mindful and careful of the things and memes that you post and tweet. You may mean well and want to be positive, but sometimes, what you post may have the opposite effect of what you intended, especially if the post or meme implies that a person is less than, or undeserving or bring misfortune upon his or herself if they don't agree with what you've posted. Remember that often what you've posted may seem simple and straightforward to you - if you live by it - wonderful, but understand that for some of us, indeed, most of us, life and our own situations are far more complex than a simple meme. Think before you post because simple memes and adages, though on the face of it may seem positive, often discount many people's lived experiences and can be triggering. Try to understand that what works for you may not work for others. Finally, know beyond a shadow of a dout that words DO hurt and what people think of you DOES matter!

Welcome to The Angry Black Womyn's Blog! This is where you'll find a lot of my thoughts, rants and ideas. Since this is my blog, you'll find that my writing style is less formal than the articles, so you'll see me in my natural state, if you will. Some posts will be long and some will be short, depending on my mood and my physical, emotional and mental energy level. Some of my posts will be controversial because in my circles, I'm known for asking the difficult and uncomfortable questions, putting it out there and telling it like it is. Quite naturally, that may lead to some rther spirited debate, so I'd advise you to go over the Comment Rules, just so that there's no misunderstanding. Thanks for dropping by - happy reading!